The Stars Look Different Today
by Cider Sky
Summary: Together, they would rewrite history. Or, how Daryl and Beth traveled through time and changed everything. AU.
1. The Stars Look Very Different Today

**The Stars Look Different Today  
><strong>By Cider Sky

* * *

><p>Together, they would rewrite history.<p>

A/N: First, thank you for deciding to suspend belief to read this. I know it might be a tough one to digest. This will be an AU, as I am sure you aware. Time travel is only small piece of it, in the grand scheme of things.

A/N2: This is based on a prompt by anon over at TWD_Kinkmeme that asked what would happen if mid-season 4 finale Daryl (and Beth) had time traveled to the beginning; what would change? I love the idea of S4 Daryl in the place of S1 Daryl, and quite honestly, I miss the cast and simplicity of S1, so this was born.

Chapter Three of WDKY to come this week.

Enjoy!

_Time travel was once considered scientific heresy. I used to avoid talking about it for fear of being labeled a crank. But these days, I'm not so cautious. _

– Steven Hawking

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><p><em>It happens because it was meant to.<em>

* * *

><p>Two equal masses, separate from each other, place pressure on two equally different parts of the universe. They increase their pressure until they, for a brief moment, meet.<p>

The product of their rendezvous is a tunnel.

These tunnels constantly blink in and out of existence, linking separate places and time in a galactic game of _Chutes and Ladders_. These tunnels are considered highly **unstable.** It is believed they occur more often than originally prescribed by science.

Astrophysicists call these tunnels _wormholes._

* * *

><p><strong>unstable.<strong>

They had lost everything and in their haste to distance themselves, and because night had fallen, they tripped. They tripped. They tripped

Daryl had been leading, his hand grasped firmly around Beth's small wrist, and as his feet fell from under him he felt a strange combination of guilt and disorientation wash over him.

Guilt because he had gotten distracted, lost his footing and was dragging the exhausted girl down with him.

down

down

down

down

Disorientation because he had lost his footing over … … n_o_thing. If anything, the ground had just disappeared. That was how it had felt, at least. There had to have been a stone or a r**o**ot.

_We gotta go Beth …_

_ … runnin' off …_

_ you like that, lil ass-kicker_

_ where's my brother –_

_ - just keep an eye on her! …_

He heard Beth gasp because though they fell, they kept falling. When one fell, at some point, they expected to stop falling.

_ ... my head, you gonna shoot me?_

_ Sophia!_

_ … can kill Merle but Merle._

They fell and fell and then – he let go of Beth.

_ Rick Grimes?_

He fell –

- and, suddenly, he landed.

* * *

><p>Daryl was laid out on his back, staring at the … roof of a <em>tent<em>. He hadn't lost any time – he remembered falling, remembered Beth, and remembered everything that had happened before, when they had been forced from the prison.

That had been a … dream?

Had he gone hunting and slept like a goddamn log? No. He hadn't done that _ever_ and he had given up on using tents months ago. They were a waste of space.

"Beth?" he murmured from a familiar spread of blankets.

No answer.

"Rick?" He tried, and then, "Michonne," because if he _was_ hunting and had gotten … wasted – and had been months since that had last happened - and okay, had forgotten about the tent – he rarely forgot anything - he would most likely be with one of them.

He gave himself one second more, a second to give his brain time to reach a rational conclusion.

Finding none, he sat up, his feet finding the ground – it was softer than the soil that surrounded the prison – propelling him towards the hatch of the tent in a less than graceful stumble.

He searched the floor, looking for anything that might work as a weapon, and spotted his old hunting knife under the pillow – he stepped back to grab it before turning back to the flap.

His fingers found the zipper and he stopped, hunched over, his eyes searching the floor for answers. He was breathing heavily, his heart hammering away as a persistent sense of déjà vu filled him.

_Wake. Up._ He told himself.

He had fallen and hit his had, cracked it wide open; he was bleeding out in the soil because he was too stupid to watch his step.

The tent shook in a slight breeze and he stared at the material before him, taking in the cross section of polyester, the small tear – he had never dreamed or hallucinated this vividly before.

He knew this tent – of course he did – it was Merle's.

It was Merle's tent. Merle's tent. Daryl let the idea sink in. He was standing in Merle's tent. Okay.

But _why_ was he in Merle's tent? He turned his head slightly, seeking out any of his brother's possessions and as soon as his eyes landed on the wadded lump of clothing, the empty cigarette cartons, the magazines, he looked away.

He would never forget Merle, but he'd _move_d on. He hadn't … dreamed … of Merle for months.

He swallowed and continued to stare ahead, hands on that damn zipper. He could hear commotion outside, could smell campfire -

Daryl was an observant man, so, naturally, he knew where he was. He knew exactly where he was, where his mind was suggesting he was.

_Fuck it._

He roughly pulled the zipper down, sliding it from its tracks, and stepped out into the morning light. **T**he s**i**ght that greeted hi**m** mad**e** his stomach drop and his fis**t**s tighten, his head swam as it denied the reality bef**o**re him .,.

"Well, well, look**s** lik**e** Darlyna has finally d**e**cided to grace us with her presence **this** morning –"

"Merle –" if it was a dream, or a hallu – it was a helluva one, whatever it was.

"What. Cat gotch'er tongue, baby brother? Quit lookin' at me like that or –"

Daryl couldn't hear anything else. His ears were ringing.

* * *

><p>Miles away.<p>

The chimes outside her window played their tune and she screamed.

"Daryl!" She choked out like a feral animal; she didn't understand what this was, what this –

She had been strong, she _was_ strong, but she had been falling, had been yanked down, too suddenly to know what happened, but –

This was her home. Why was she – how could she be? She didn't _want _to be, not if – Beth untangled herself from her bed and spilled onto the floor, her legs taken by weakness.

"Daryl, please –" whatever was happening, she hated it. She wanted it to stop. Not even in her cruelest fever dreams would she think of this.

A _stomp stomp stomp_ shook the ground and she backed herself into the wall, hand reaching for a gun or her small boot knife but no – she was barefoot, in a nightgown, weaponless.

Not a moment later and the door to her – her room flew over.

"Beth!" Maggie's voice lifted, filling the space of the room, "What's wrong?"

Her sister's sudden presence had her jumping to her feet; the day's events were not hard to remember but the flood of emotion that came with them tightened her throat, blurred her vision.

"Daryl –" she spat in her panic, "where's Daryl, Maggie … he was just, we were, the prison, and dad –" Thoughts flowed from her torrentially, each fighting for space and representation.

"What are you - Beth, calm down, I'm here – stop!" Beth looked up at her sister; she looked _different_. She looked the same.

She called her name, over and over, but Beth couldn't stand it – couldn't understand it.

"Patricia!" Maggie called and Beth felt her chest tighten – she hadn't heard that name in far too long, had almost forgotten what it sounded like, out loud. "Dad! Come quick, something's wrong!"

Footsteps. The creak of wood; creaks she remembered from childhood.

She tr**i**ed **t**o contain her**s**elf but she c**o**uldn't pull herself away from her sister, her hands gripping the other woman's shirt in a death grip. She was hyper**ve**ntilating, hiccupping, d**r**ooling – it was a show of complete hysterics, she knew, but it was the most incredible release she had ever felt.

"Beth, darling - " her heart, time, _everything_, stopped at the sound of his voice. _His_ voice.

She wanted to look but she couldn't. She had seen …

"Sweetheart, look at me, please –"

She looked up to see her father, and behind him was Patricia – down the hall she could hear Otis' heavy footfalls. Her throat tightened painfully and an inhuman sound escaped her, made of pain and suffering and … _re_lief.

She could hear them talking over her but she couldn't respond. This house had burned. Most of these people, most of her family had _died._

"I think it was a nightmare." Maggie said as she held her, stroked her hair, spoke over her sobs. "Just a nightmare."

* * *

><p>It takes him two days to accept what was happening. What <em>might<em> be happening.

He wasn't dreaming or what the fuck ever, that much was sure. It wouldn't have hurt so fucking much when Merle had smacked him upside the head for the way his voice had cracked when he had first seen him, for the way his expression had softened.

In fact, it had cleared his head if anything; the vertigo that had taken over abruptly cleared and there he was, standing outside their tent in the quarry. No big deal.

Except it was and we wouldn't look at anyone or anything but the ground for two days; it didn't raise suspicion. It's exactly how he had been … back … then. He kept on like that hoping that maybe he _would_ wake up, that he had hit his hard and had been really fucked, was in a coma or something.

He figured as long as he just waited it would stop and he'd happily remain in this fugue state until the memories played out.

But then Merle had _it_ and something inside him had snapped.

" – goin' on that run, then, like we talked about."

"What –" Daryl croaked; he hadn't spoken for two days, had only acknowledged Merle in grunts, but these memories, whatever they were, and had been completely unmemorable up until now.

He remembered this moment very clearly as the last time he had spoken to Merle, before everything had changed so much.

"Damn, boy, get that shit outta your ears. 'M goin' on that run, like we talked about."

Daryl had sat there, staring, stupid, as the pieces clicked together. This wasn't a fucking dream. He had tried to convince himself it was but so far he'd come up empty. He'd looked for the scar on his abdomen from the arrow, the one on his head from the bullet; he'd gotten a good look at himself in the lake, his rippling reflection revealed a slightly younger version of himself, a cleaner version, his hair clipped shorter than it had been for the past two years …

He hadn't failed to notice the difference in his endurance, in his strength; he wasn't as hardened as he had been and damn, he didn't ache as much neither.

Point is, if this were a dream he wouldn't be like this. It was too fucking specific, too random, too … far in the past.

No this was something else. Something that might actually be exactly what it was … reality. He hadn't forgotten that odd sensation of falling, or of Beth. It was an odd thing to know someone one day and then for them to not exist the next. It wasn't like she had died, like Michonne or Maggie or Herschel – the people he was yet to meet – had died. It was more like they had never existed in the first place.

There were emotional attachments to this people, something he was no longer so hesitant to admit. So yeah, it was a strange, fucked up feeling to confront the idea that it was all in his head, that it might have been all along.

It was almost easy to accept that maybe he had succumbed to Merle's stash and had had the most elaborate trip of his life but fuck that. He _knew_ it wasn't that. He hadn't touched that shit since he was seventeen and nothing would have turned him towards it now. Not even some dead fuckers trying to eat your goddamn flesh.

He wasn't fucking crazy, he had decided. This was real. This was goddamn real.

"No –" Daryl said it a little too desperately but excuse him for having the realization that this might mean changing things.

"Could use you here." It sounded nothing like him, at least not the him he was supposed to be. It sounded like how he talked to Herschel, or Carol. It didn't fit and Merle's brow furrowed.

"Bullshit. Thought you were goin' on your little huntin' trip. Bout time we had somethin' other than squirrel –"

That's right. He was supposed to be heading out for his hunt … and when he got back Merle would be missing, left in Atlanta to die. Then there would be the governor and all that sorry shit. And finally …

"Was thinkin' you could come with." He tried but it came out … soft, level headed, calm. It came out in a way they had never spoken to each other.

"What in the hell, baby brother? You gone soft in the head'r what? Need me t' hold your hand?"

"It ain't –" Daryl watched as Merle's face fell into an expression that seemed to cross confused and annoyed; he wasn't acting like himself, Daryl realized. Himself _back then._

"'S just a waste of time, goin' on a run." Daryl huffed as his heart began to hum a little faster; he was just trying to change fate here. Nothing big. Give him a fucking break.

"Don't you remember why I'm goin' on this run –" Merle said, his voice low and dangerous. Daryl's chest clenched; he hadn't until now. It had beena long time ago. A lot of shit had happened between now and … whenever but hell, this had been a bad memory if anything.

"Thin the numbers, baby brother. We know Atlanta ain't nothin' but a mess right now."

Daryl felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.

The only condolence to having to confront this shitty memory was the fact that it had been Merle's idea and he had been mostly indifferent, at the time.

But now – he thought about the old plan, about Merle letting T-Dog and Glenn fall to the walkers, about his interest in Andrea, about how Ed was supposed to be part of it, that piece of shit.

Thin the group, pick out the troublemakers, take what they needed, what they wanted, run the show. Daryl could've laughed out loud. What a fucking joke.

"It ain't the right time –" Daryl whispered doing his best to look like he wanted this. Wanted them … thinned out.

"The right time? Baby brother, time don't mean nothin' now." His brother huffed; now he was suspicious.

He could turn this around. He could. Merle had more in him than this prick before him. He knew that, knew what he was really made of after the Governor.

He could save his brother.

"Trust me, Merle. They don't like us," that much he remembered, "and they sure as hell don't trust us. How do you know they ain't thinking the same."

For once it looked like Merle was really considering what he was saying; it was no small victory. Had he tried this the first time around it would have ended in a fistfight, wouldn't have gotten past the first sentence.

Regardless, it felt fucking shitty. None of these people, save for Shane, would do that to them. Not now, at least.

"I don't – I don't trust 'em is all." Daryl said and was surprised how wrong it felt; he felt … bad saying that, felt like a liar; he may not have been prince charming back then but he'd always been honest, brutally so.

For the first time since this shit began, Daryl looked around. It was as surprising as he'd expected it to be. It looked exactly the same, a living memory.

He school his expression, doing his best to glower – he never figured there'd be a day where he had to _try_ to glower.

"Look at 'em –" he said and his brother grinned and complied, his eyes drifting lazily across the camp.

Daryl followed his gaze. The Morales', he hardly remembered them to be honest, had only really talked to the man.

"Can hardly tell a biter from a live one –" Daryl fought to hold his glare; there was Amy … talking to Jim and Jacqui.

Their names were slow to come; the only thing he had ever done for Jim was try to put an axe in his head. The only time he had ever talked to Jacqui was to call he an 'uppity bitch.'

He wasn't fucking proud of it.

"Hell, half of 'em can't even shoot a gun –" He continued. The smack of the RV door grabbed both their attention. Andrea and Dale stepped out, toolbox in hand. They were laughing.

Daryl looked away; his chest hurt in that annoying fucking way it always did back at the prison when they lost one of their own; that thing that had started sometime between lil'Asskicker coming into the world and when they took the folks from Woodbury in.

"They'll drag you down, get you killed. Best let it play out –" Carl ran across the camp, waving someone down and Christ, had the kid ever been that small and that … smiley?

"Yeah, you're right about one thing," Merle laughed and clapped him on the back, _hard,_ like he always had.

"Half these sorry assholes –"

"Sophia!"

Daryl's head snapped towards the sound of her voice; he looked over just in time to see Sophia … _Sophia_ bounding from behind a car to meet her mother who was coming up from the quarry's lake with Lori.

" - will be dead in a week."

Suddenly, his heart was hammering in his chest, his brother's words and the scene before him twisting into one another to create a truth he knew.

He watched as Carol showed Sophia their catch making the little girl scrunch her nose up as Carol playfully swung the line of fish closer to her daughter. He watched as Carol put her arm around her daughter, leading her towards the fire pit; he could just make out her promise to teach her how to cook.

It took every fiber of his being to not run over there and shake the girl, tell her not to wander off, to tell Carol to stay close to him, to tell her he is sorry –

"Into little girls now, or is it old ladies?" Merle effectively broke his attention and Daryl found himself whirling around, his breathing coming in fast, tempered breaths

"Fuck off, Merle –" Now _this_ seemed to satisfy his brother, must have seemed more in character because the man grinned wide, pleased with having got under his skin.

"Ho, Darylena, what's with the temper! Ain't nothin' wrong with wantin' a little action. Ed says she's a good 'nough lay. 'M sure we can work somethin' out –" Merle leered; he was enjoying this, that asshole.

"Forget about that, jackass –" the mention of Ed sends a spike of rage filled adrenaline through him; he knew too much about Ed for that to be a salvageable thing. The mere mention of the man made him near homicidal.

"You in or what –" Andrea was giving her sister a hug goodbye, Glenn – hell, the kid looked young, inexperienced – was edging around the vehicle, waiting; they'd be living any second now. "- ain't got all day."

That worked; had the right amount of asshole in it to spur his brother on, to make Merle punch him on the shoulder.

"Keep your panties on," Merle guffawed and Daryl just stared back at him; it had been so long. He had made his peace. He didn't know how the fuck to act – he just wasn't the same and it had never been more obvious.

"Gonna just grab somethin' for the trip and then I'll be back to hold y'r hand." Daryl watched him turn towards their truck but quickly lost interest for across the camp he could feel eyes on him.

He looked back to see Carol, hunched in on herself, eyes full of hurt – their gaze met and she looked away, searching for Sophia and promptly ushering her away.

He would fix this. He would.

* * *

><p>A slight fever had taken her and for two days she lie in bed, sweating and quivering as she thought about things that had never happened.<p>

Maggie sat with her, asking about Daryl, about Glenn, about baby Judith, about the incredible details of her dream. Maggie had smiled at her fondly; she told her she had always had an incredible imagination, such an ability to create.

She flinched when Jimmy touched her for the first time after her … awakening. It had felt like the touch of a dead man and her feelings had felt removed, distant. She asked him for some _space_, some _time _to figure things out.

When her father was around her heart felt warm and she felt as though she could cry, but she had to remind herself that that had all been a _dream._ When he talked about the sickness, the test from God she felt … conflicted. What she had dreamed had seemed so real; her dream had told her this was not what her father thought it was. She didn't speak of that, though.

Patricia told her that she had most likely had a fever dream, that they could feel like weeks worth of time lived. Beth felt comfort in her assurances but found no way to explain the change it had effected – did fever dreams do that, too? She'd be back to herself in not time, the woman promised.

After four days she left her room – the shock mostly having worn off. That day she collected eggs and groomed the horses, she helped can tomatoes and helped her sister cook dinner.

As she chopped and diced she wondered why the blade felt so right in her hand, how much better it would feel if only it was tucked in snug to her, blade down, just like Daryl had taught her …

Maggie bumped her with her hip and had asked her what she was thinking about.

"Nothing." She gave a weak smile; in time it would wear off, that strange dream.

* * *

><p>I am completely aware this story is strange - thank you for taking the time to read. That is all.<p> 


	2. The Butterfly Effect

**The Stars Look Different Today  
><strong>By Cider Sky

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><p>Together, they would rewrite history.<p>

A/N: Sorry for the delay all. Was in the Caribean for a month, working and then came home to my dog on her deathbed. I had to put her down on Monday due to brain cancer. She was 7 years old and I miss her terribly. Anyway, sorry to angst for a moment; thank you for being patient. Writing this and reading your reviews were very cathartic.

**Warning:** Racist language.

_I believe things cannot make themselves impossible.  
><em>– Steven Hawking

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><p>"Wait up Darylena, what the hells the rush –" Daryl picked his way through the undergrowth, his teeth grit so hard he was sure he would crack a tooth.<p>

Merle was meandering slowly behind him, branches cracking loudly beneath his feet. They'd only just resumed their hunt – the man had spent the whole morning sleeping off a fierce hangover, all thanks to a bottle of rum Daryl hadn't known about.

"Ain't never gonna catch that doe foolin' around. Wasted enough time."

"Shit, I thought that was just some piss poor excuse to come out here for a little private time – " Merle grinned and Daryl rolled his eyes; at least he managed to swallow the insult at the tip of his tongue.

It had been hard, keeping himself in check the past two days.

"Then why the hell am I trackin' this damn deer?" Daryl spat as he squint against the glare of the sun – the woods were thinning out, the deer would be in the clearing, not too far from here, just like it had been before.

Merle let out a sharp chuckle, the pandering kind; Daryl hated that shit.

" – you know what I mean, just you, the woods, thoughts of Ed's old lady's grey pus-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Daryl cut him off and couldn't help but whirl to face him; he had nearly forgotten some of this shit that came out of his older brother's mouth. Daryl knew that he himself was no saint but his brother had always had a way with words, a way that made even the foul-mouthed cringe.

"What in the hell is your problem, boy?" Merle stepped forward; the humor that had been there before when he had slipped was gone. Merle was inching on pissed.

Daryl had to take a deep breath before speaking. _He doesn't know, things are the same for him_._ He doesn't know._ Daryl had to remind himself three times before finding the rights words, the ones that would fix this situation.

Forget keeping himself in check. Dealing with his brother was proving to be far harder than he ever though it could be. The thought made a wave of guilt wash over him.

Some brother he was.

"We came here to hunt, t' get away from those fools. Don't want to waste my breath talkin' about 'em."

Merle huffed at that.

"Could've fooled me. Couldn't shut you up about 'em near three days ago." Daryl couldn't possibly remember that conversation; it must've been the night before all of … this.

"Yeah, well, got tired of it. Now let's go." He'd have the deer by noon, just like he was suuposed to; he'd keep the walkers from getting it, he'd fill everyone's stomachs and Merle would still be there, safe at camp, at the end of the day.

Merle eyed him, uncrossing his arms. A long moment of silence passed between them, the two of them staring each other down. Daryl tried to remind himself that this too was out of character for himself _then._

Daryl averted his gaze and he could see Merle shift in his periphery.

"We go when I say we go." Daryl didn't look at him and instead stared straight ahead, the weight of the task at hand pushing down on him.

To Merle it seemed as though he'd grown suddenly defiant over night, that he'd become cocky and confident, aggressive even. Merle had always been a lot like his Pa and he knew enough to know that Merle wouldn't take too kindly to this level of sass.

"Merle – "

"I'll be back."

"Wait, what?" Daryl bit out, genuinely surprised. This wasn't going to plan, not at all.

"Easy, little brother," Merle's voice had returned to some normalcy, "jus' gonna drain the snake."

Daryl stared, his gut churning slightly. He watched as his brother turned his back and disappeared into the woods.

* * *

><p>Beth raked the peeler over the potato and hissed as it caught her thumb; a dot of red welled up and she brought the small wound to her mouth.<p>

"Oh, you nick yourself, honey?"

"I'm fine." She said as she tossed Patricia a reassuring smile.

"Good. The darn things' old, too full of jagged edges." They continued their work in silence and soon Beth's hands found a good rhythm allowing her the luxury to stare of the window.

She stared out into the field and beyond towards the tree line. Beth watched the grass undulate, the wind make it look as though the field was an ocean of green and yellow. She released a contented sigh and let her eyes drift.

Eventually they landed on a lone figure, shambling out of the woods.

"Walker." It was out of her mouth before she had any time to think.

"What?" Patricia asked, her eyes still on the vegetables before her.

"Walker." She repeated as she traded the peeler for a knife. Just one walker. An easy kill. She'd run down there and put the knife into it's temple. Just like she had been taught.

Patricia leaned over, tracing her gaze.

"Is there someone out there –" When she found the source of Beth's interest the response was immediate. Beth gasped in surprise as Patricia pulled her back from the window.

"Otis! Otis, get Herschel!" Patricia shouted, her hand wrapped tightly around Beth's wrist. She was so surprised she could only follow as Patricia tugged her towards the staircase.

"It's just one walker –" She let out as Patricia pushed her towards the first step.

"Get upstairs, Beth. Don't come out until we say so." Beth was pushed up towards the second step, so forcefully she nearly fell. She could hear Otis' heavy footfalls as he crossed the house, making his way for the porch, animal noose in hand.

Beth didn't understand.

It was just one walker.

* * *

><p>Daryl waited for fifteen minutes, his knife stabbing a deep hole into a rotted log - a relaxation technique that wasn't doing its job. He listened to the <em>thunk thunk thunk<em> of the blade meeting wood as thoughts of his brother consumed his thoughts.

"Damnit, Merle." He grit as he stabbed the knife into the log one final time.

He rose, forgetting the deer and repaired relations with the others, and set off in the direction Merle had gone.

Daryl held his crossbow at the ready while he followed the older man's tracks. He hardly had to go far – within minutes he was staring at the hunch of his brothers bent over form.

Merle had his back to him, had taken a seat on the ground – for a brief, terrifying moment, Daryl had thought him bitten. That would be his fucking luck, to kill his own brother before this had even truly begun, but his fears were quickly drowned by the sound of his brother's voice.

"Ain't hard at all –" The man said and Daryl stepped tentatively forward; had Merle heard his approach? What the hell was he talking about.

"Ain't hard to kill a man. Done it myself, bunch o' towelheads, sand niggers. Done it in Kandahar, poppy-farming fucks –" his older brother laughed and shook his head.

"Merle, what the hell –" Daryl reached out and grabbed his brother shoulder; the man didn't jerk I surprised, no, he turned slowly and lazily, unbothered by the sudden intrusion.

"There y' are, baby brother –" His brother faced him, his eyes blood shot and his upper lip and left nostril dusted with white powder. His face was slack and relaxed in that way it always got when he did coke.

Coke. Fuckin' coke in the middle of the goddamn woods with walkers.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You usin'?" He was furious. He was _beyond_ furious.

"Merle, you fucking asshole –" He grabbed at his brother, trying to force him onto his feet – the older man didn't take too kindly to his attempt and reeled back, hands slapping at Daryl's own.

Daryl stepped back as Merle assumed a stance that suggested he was ready for a fight; the man's right hand rested on his knife and the other clenched and unclenched.

"Now, I'm gonna give you a chance to get off that high fuckin' horse of yours." His brother's voice dropped, a moment of lucidity offering him a credibly, threatening air. It wouldn't be the first time he and Merle had gotten into it while he was high; it usually ended with broken ribs and black eyes.

"The hell'r you talkin' 'bout?" Daryl asked his voice wary; had he forgotten so much about who his brother had been. Or had he forgotten so much about himself?

"You gonna stand there and pretend y'ain't never had a little fun with your old pal Merle. Hell, spent plenty of nights listenin' to you ramble 'bout the pussy I know you weren't getting'."

Daryl huffed slightly unable to believe they were this stupid, to be having this conversation with walkers about. But then again, they had done plenty of stupid shit, before and after all this.

Daryl gripped his crossbow a little tighter as his brother shifted his weight, aggression clear in his stance.

"That was a long time ago, Merle." Merle shook his head, looking angry.

"A long time – baby brother, a year ain't so long." Daryl swallowed the briefly forgotten information; for him it _had_ been years since he'd touched anything. Sure, he had used before, had had his fun with it, but he had never become what Merle or his Pa had.

Daryl felt an ache gather in his right temple – it was already becoming clear that it would be damn near impossible to keep everything straight.

"Don't matter much now –" Daryl had to bite his tongue as the word 'jackass' tried to form. He briefly turned away but the fire came back; he stepped forward, finger pointed in his brother's face. "Ain't weak enough t' need it and sure as fuck ain't thick enough to do it with walkers about –"

Daryl saw it coming; Merle's pupils were blown, his movements so loudly broadcasted he might as well have told him he was going in for the punch. Still, it didn't matter much as he had been standing too damn close.

Daryl jerked to the side as Merle's fist caught his cheekbone; he had managed to move just enough to avoid a full impact blow but it still hurt like a bitch.

Daryl used the momentum to get out of Merle's reach, just narrowly avoiding Merle's grasps, the older man's fingertips nearly closing around the fabric of his vest.

"Sonnuva –" Merle grunted as he stumbled forward; Daryl took the opportunity and spun, whipping his crossbow around, the butt of the weapon landing heavily against his brother's skull.

The man dropped like a sack of rocks.

Daryl heaved a breath in bit the inside of his lip – a habit he had thought had died a while back – and stared at his brother's prone figure.

A quick, hot flash of anger washed over him and for a moment he hated his brother. As soon as the feeling came it vanished as he imagined his brother's face, eyes cloudy and flesh hanging from his teeth.

All there was now was guilt, failure hanging over him like a shadow.

* * *

><p>When Merle awoke an hour later he didn't acknowledge Daryl. He simply got up and began to make his way back towards the camp.<p>

* * *

><p>They broke the clearing and went their separate ways. Daryl shouldered the short string of squirrels he had managed – no thanks to Merle - and watched as his brother steadily crossed the camp, giving people the nastiest looks he could muster as he passed by.<p>

"What're you lookin' at gramps?" He spat at Dale as he passed the RV. The older man shook his head; they all watched as he stomped back to his tent, listing slightly as he leaned over to pull at the zipper. He disappeared inside and Daryl felt his frustrations mount.

He would sleep the rest of the day, no doubt. He always did after using that shit. What a massive shit show this had already turned out to be.

Daryl frowned and huffed before he realized, with an uncomfortable sinking feeling, that the entire camp was now looking at him.

His eyes darted between the members of the camp – _right_ – he thought, he had been just like Merle back then, had told them all to fuck off a time or five, once upon a time.

They had probably been expecting him to trail behind his brother like a moody, kicked puppy. The thought made him cringe.

He shifted his weight as his mind raced through possible responses, expectations warring with reality. Was it so hard to act the part? It's not like he didn't remember it, the anger, the faceless hatred …

_Say somethin' you jackass._ Now they were nervous; he was standing there, crossbow in hand, staring back when just a few days before he probably hadn't even made eye contact.

"Squirrel –"

He could've kicked his own ass; he _should have_ told them to mind their own business. That would've been far more believable than … this.

He swallowed and did his best to look pissed.

"Y'all just gonna stand there or is someone gonna string 'em up; already done my part."

Some continued to stare while others turned away, their faces alight with brief distaste.

"Carol –" Ed called out and Daryl's head snapped to the man's location. He was sitting at their campfire, gun laid across his lap, and MRE ripped open at his side.

A moment later she appeared from behind their car, one hand holding a pair of pants, the other a strung needle.

He had nearly forgotten – she and Jaqui had proven somewhat decent when it came to gutting and preparing small game; Jaqui because of her father's influence and Carol because Ed was a cheap son of a bitch.

"String those up n' do it right." Ed pointed in Daryl's direction with his rifle – that idiot – and spit into the dirt.

Carol looked up at him and immediately looked away when she realized he was returning her gaze; she looked so different, so small, so … scared.

He watched as she crossed the camp and he felt an incredible urge to back away, to turn back towards the forest – he never wanted to see her this way _again_. The abuse was written all over her – in bruises and in the way she carried herself.

It made him sick.

His eyes snapped towards Ed for a brief moment – there was a lot he wanted to change but Ed's fate, hell, his fate had been too kind the last time.

Carol stopped before him and her mouth quirked in discomfort.

"I'll take that." She said, her voice meek, barely above a whisper.

He couldn't keep this act up, not with her; not when she had to return to that slob of a husband.

"Don't worry, Dixon. I'll keep an eye on 'er." Ed had read his hesitation for distrust; it wasn't a ridiculous assumption, considering who he had been those years ago.

Daryl felt his grasp tighten around the cord or rope – _sonnuva bitch'll get his –_ and handed it to her, gently.

As soon as it was in her hand she grasped it and turned to leave; she didn't get far, however, as Daryl had yet to release the thing.

The moment was brief, unnoticed by the others, by Ed.

She looked back up at him, distress clear in the tense way she held herself. She wouldn't be able to handle much more. She thought he was toying her and it tore him apart.

"Thank you, Carol." He murmured, loud enough only for their ears.

Her brow furrowed, a thing caught between confusion and distrust. She gave him a small nod, her gaze averted, before turning away.

He watched her go, watched Ed as he licked his lips and took her in as she passed him by.

He could have done something right there and then, could have cross the camp and put his hands around the bastard's neck, so intense was his hatred for Ed.

However, he'd have to wait.

"They're back!" Someone cried and Daryl's thoughts did a compete 180; he had nearly forgotten.

_Rick._

* * *

><p>Daryl did his best to not look to eager as he joined the others as they watched the truck amble up the hill.<p>

He hung back a few paces, squinting through the sunlight; he could make out T-Dog in the driver's seat, Andrea in the passenger's.

That would mean Jaqui, Glenn, Rick and Morales would be in the back with whatever supplies they had managed.

Rick didn't know him, not yet – he would be the easiest to make an ally of. That's where he would start. If he managed to forge a slow friendship with the man, the others may come to accept his sudden 'change of heart'.

That still didn't solve his problems with Merle; he sure as hell hadn't taken to his friendship with the man so well the first time.

Another minute passed and the truck slowed to a stop in front of the group; T-Dog and Andrea hopped out, the latter of whom was immediately barreled down by her sister.

Daryl couldn't help but let a grin tug at his lip; he could fix that too.

"C'mon man!" Daryl could hear Glenn's muffled voice from behind the truck's sliding door.

T-Dog laughed and hurried over, giving the back door a quick slap before releasing the locking mechanism and throwing the metal upwards.

Glenn hopped down, his face alight with self-satisfaction – he looked carefree and a bit skittish, more a boy than a man.

Next came Morales and then Jaqui, who took the man's offered hand as she stepped down.

"Hey, Dale! You're gonna love what we found –" Jaqui called out but Daryl wasn't listening. He stepped forward, head ducking, searching, but there wasn't much to see.

All that remained in the cargo bed was a few bags of supplies, a tool kit, spare tires …

Rick wasn't with them.

Before he could really think about what he was doing he was walking towards Glenn.

"Glenn." The younger man spotted him rather immediately and his expression dropped; he whispered a panicked "shit" and nearly dropped the bag he was carrying.

It would have been amusing if Daryl hadn't been about to force them back in the truck, demanding they go into Atlanta again.

"Where did you go in Atlanta?" He asked Glenn, his voice commanding; the Korean shrunk at the sound of it, his eyes screaming both 'help' and 'why me' at the same time.

"The Department Store on Peach –" _Fuck_, Daryl thought, that was hardly within the city limits.

"Did you see anyone?" He pushed

"Well, walkers –" Glenn started and Daryl cut him off, his voice short and impatient.

"A man, did you see a man?"

"Uh –" Glenn stepped back, nervous. Daryl fully realized this was probably the first conversation they were having, that anything he had said prior had been racist, condescending or down right mean.

"A cop, wearin' a sheriff's hat –" Daryl nearly had the young man stumbling over his own feet now but fuck, he couldn't deal with this right now.

"No, no, just the Walkers, man, calm down –"

"Why the hell not?" Daryl spat, his frustration so intense it was a physical ache in his chest. The question didn't make a lick of sense without context but he couldn't give a shit.

"I'm, uh, sorry –" Glenn said out of pure misery, his desire to end the interaction evident.

Daryl abided him, turning away without so much as a thanks, knowing there wouldn't be much he could get from Glenn; the man had no idea about Rick, about how much he his decision to take Merle with him had changed things for them.

He made his way to the far end of the camp, towards his truck, leaving Glenn behind.

* * *

><p>Glenn watched the younger Dixon brother walk away and released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.<p>

He nearly jumped when T-Dog appeared beside him.

"What the hell was that?" T-Dog asked as he too stared after the retreating hunter.

"I have no freaking idea, T," he paused, "but I'm pretty sure I just pissed my pants."

* * *

><p>For the first time since this shit had begun panic welled up inside of him.<p>

Daryl didn't know what had gone wrong. Rick should have been in the truck. This was the day they had found Rick in Atlanta.

What in the hell had changed –

Daryl looked over at his tent, the his brother was undoubtedly snoring in, and his stomach dropped like a stone.

_Fuck. Fuck …_

He hadn't known the exact story, the exact events of that day; all he had known was that Merle had ben left behind. Handcuffed to a roof.

It had been all he had cared about at the time.

But something had happened, clearly. Had his brother been so important to that run? Had he been that fucking important?

Daryl punched the side of his truck, not caring about the dent as he might have before – he hadn't even considered that his brother might have been the one to choose where they had gone.

_Thin the group …_

That's what Merle had been trying to do; the bastard had probably led them right into the center of the city, into an area too dangerous to venture, towards where Rick had been.

In a matter of _days_ he had changed everything.

Daryl paced, a hundred plans filtering through his mind, though he knew the chances of finding his friend were thin; he knew Glenn had saved him from some dire situation. If he were being honest with himself, the man was probably dead.

The thought made him physically sick; Daryl slumped against his truck.

He couldn't do this without Rick.

* * *

><p>I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for your patience; the next update will not take so long. Things will also be moving a little quicker from here and Daryl's interactions with the others, most notably his brother, will prove more difficult. There are plenty of twists to come!<p>

Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read, follow, favorite and review. It means a lot to me!


	3. Theories of Change

**The Stars Look Different Today  
><strong>By Cider Sky

* * *

><p>Together, they would rewrite history.<p>

A/N: I messed up with the timeline a bit – Daryl and Merle got back to camp before the crew, which means there is a full day before the walker-camp attack. I'm just going to roll with it – hope you all don't mind.

A/N2: A special thank you to penless, P.M., Aquila333, K. Lynn Perks, eieball326, BelleCelestyn, sunnyjoeman, torijamison, lilhanna, fggt16, and dkflpn for your reviews. This one is for you!

**Warning:** Blood and gore.

_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy. _

– Anatole France

* * *

><p><em>He could fix this.<em>

Daryl wheeled his brother's bike across the camp, avoiding the stares and whispers – it was only two hours to sunset, an unusual time to set out for any reason.

But he couldn't wait.

He had less than a day to find Rick – he knew what was to come the next night, the walker attack that would thin their numbers by half, the one that would take Amy and Jim.

It just couldn't wait, as stupid as it was to go out at this time, but he was experienced, had two years on these people. It was a strange realization but true – he had killed hundreds of walkers, maybe a thousand by now, while some of the group had yet to kill one.

No one could have stopped him if they tried.

He was nearly home free – they stared and whispered but didn't stop him – when a voice called out behind him, footsteps signaling the owner's approach.

"Dixon, where you going?" Shane.

He had done all he could to avoid the man, had been hoping to avoid it until Rick had made it back to camp, but now …

He thought about ignoring him because hell, it wouldn't be out of character, but it was hard to forget that man's temper or his cold, calculative ways; it may have not been obvious to the others, not at first, but he could always tell when Shane was fixing to _change_ things, to control things, to make them go according to his plan.

"Dixon, I'm talkin' to you –" The man's voice made him feel unsettled; he had never liked the man and he sure as hell hadn't shed any tears when he had heard of his death.

Daryl stopped and turned, forcing a bored expression. The sight that greeted him set off an angry churning in his gut.

Shane stood there, rifle resting on his shoulder, and his stance seemingly relaxed. Daryl wasn't fooled, knew it for what it really was. It was dominance, an invitation to try and challenge him – it was Shane's version of 'I'm-not-afraid-of-you'.

"Y' need somethin' – " He ground out, still assuming as much disinterest as he could pour into the interaction.

"Yeah. Where you headed?" Shane stepped closer, casting a glance over at their tents. Merle's absence hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Goin' on a run." Was all he offered; he had a feeling that his real reason would draw more than a few questions from the man.

Shane's brow furrowed, as though he thought he was lying, the jackass.

"Got a problem with that." He added, for good measure.

"A little." Shane looked down, briefly, before squinting back up at him.

"Glenn said you were on the look out for someone." Daryl cursed internally; he wasn't doing the best job at keeping the red flags to a minimum.

"A friend." Daryl grit out; it wasn't really a lie and it wouldn't be hard to pretend that Rick had just been an unfortunate stray.

Shane gave him a lengthy stare and it didn't take a genius to figure out what the man might be thinking. It was no secret that the others thought them - him and Merle – to be unsavory. One might imagine their 'friends' to be the same.

"We don't bring just anyone into this camp. Gotta keep everyone safe. There's women and children –" Daryl was caught between wanting to roll his eyes and jumping forward and punching the man in the face. If only the man knew what he was destined to become.

"Said I was goin' on a run; ain't lookin' for no one –" Daryl said because he wasn't about to pander to Shane. He wasn't going to promise to check with him first or some shit like that.

"And Merle; he's not going on this run with you?" But hell, the man was nosy. But then again that's how he got his information, the kind that helped him plan murders and the like – he'd seen it with the Randal fiasco and Rick had filled him in on the rest.

Daryl huffed as though it were a stupid question, though the man was right to be suspicious; save for the run Merle should have been on, they hadn't ever really separated.

Shit, they'd even gone through the trouble to let the others know that Dixons stuck together and that pretty much everyone else could fuck off.

"No." He didn't owe the man explanation and truth was he didn't really have one; he wasn't sure Shane would take much solace in the fact that Merle was sleeping off a quick coke binge and that he wasn't likely to stir up any trouble.

"We done here?" Daryl asked. He was tried of wasting time.

Shane looked him up and down, his jaw muscle twitching as he assessed the situation, assessed _him_, and then, to Daryl's relief, gave a stiff nod.

"Yeah. We're done." Shane turned away, no good-bye or good-luck wasted; what a pity.

Daryl turned the ignition to his brother's motorcycle, wincing at the amount of noise that came sputtering from the thing, and mounted. His brother would be pissed, sure, but it wasn't as though the other man would be using it. Hell, he probably wouldn't even notice.

That and he'd grown attached to the thing; the way he saw it, it was as much his as it was Merle's now.

Daryl looked up at the sky as he pulled away from the campsite. He was losing light.

Determined, he increased his speed and when he hit the highway, pushed the bike as fast as it could go.

He would find him.

* * *

><p>Daryl parked his motorcycle, away from prying eyes, and approached the building his brother had once, in a different time, been left abandoned. There was no real reason to think Rick would be here, but it was a start.<p>

He didn't venture inside; the doors were closed, covered in dust, and walkers milled about, insatiated.

He pressed forward, weaving between allies, rounding gates, until he came to the tank. It was just as he'd remembered it – swamped by walkers, towering over the barely there remains of a horse. The gun bag, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Rick _had_ been here at least; Daryl was struck with a sudden stab of hope. Perhaps he was still in the damn thing – if Glenn hadn't been there this time around, what could he have done but wait it out?

But it wasn't as if he could just walk over to the tank and knock; there were too many walkers. And just what would he say? Daryl contemplated it for a moment before deciding with a huff.

"Fuck it." He murmured to himself as he looked for high ground and, quickly finding it, ascended.

Once at the top of the three-story building he cupped his hands, pulling them over his mouth, and leaned over the side. His breath caught in his throat as his mind reminded him that this wasn't going to be the Rick he knew; that the man wouldn't give him a nod or know his name, that they wouldn't fall into that easy rhythm that made them such a good team.

"Rick!" He called out, casting the thoughts aside; they didn't much matter now.

He waited, expecting the hatch to pop open, but nothing came.

"RICK!" He tried again; walkers turned, searching for him, but the hatch remained closed.

He tried three more times with the same results. Either the man wasn't responding _or_ he wasn't in there. Daryl turned back towards the roof, eyes searching; a found a good-sized piece of something, debris, and hurled it at the tank.

It landed with a loud, resounding clunk.

Still, nothing.

He cursed, angry at having made the wrong decision, for having taking the wrong route, but there was nothing for it; the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon.

He'd run out of time this day.

* * *

><p><em>There are walkers in the barn<em>.

The thought woke her up, rousing her from an already fitful sleep, setting her into motion.

Beth walked over to her window, taking in the structures thick, heavy chains – the doors were stained with what she knew to be blood, shed by their daily struggles, fingers clawing at the doors and, at times, breaking off when caught just the right way.

She looked upon the barn in disgust. Another had been added it to the day before, the same one she had seen walking in the field.

She forced herself to turn away from the sight, confusion and an odd sense of déjà vu filling her; she knew the reason for her unusual thoughts.

That dream. It had unsettled her more deeply than she had realized.

The dream had changed her, made her think differently, see differently.

It tore at her, to so suddenly be at odds with her family. They believed walkers to be victims of God's wrath. She knew them to be nothing but unfortunate victims of a plague.

Beth gasped when a knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.

"It's – it's open." She called out.

She had been expecting Maggie, Patricia, her father … her stomach tumbled slightly when Jimmy poked his head into the room.

"Oh, I'm – I'm sorry, I thought, it's late, so –" Beth furrowed her brow, unsure of what had Jimmy so flustered when she realized she was still in her pajamas.

"No, it's fine." She said, taking a seat at the end of her bed. "You need something?"

Jimmy stared back at her blankly, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously.

"It's just, I haven't really seen you in a while, we haven't really talked –" Jimmy trailed off, entering the room in an awkward, bashful shuffle.

"Oh."

Beth hadn't noticed, not really, and she immediately felt guilty over it. When she looked at him she knew she should feel _something_; they were dating weren't they?

"I'm sorry, I –" Beth didn't know what to say; she looked at him, expecting to feel affection, attraction, _anything_, but what she felt … she couldn't pin it down.

"It's okay, you've been through a lot." Jimmy saddled closer, taking a seat on the bed; she knew this shouldn't bother her. She could _remember_ feeling thrilled about his proximity, once upon a time, but now … what was wrong with her?

"I just want you to know I'm still here for you. You can talk to me." She gave him a small smile because she didn't know what else to do. She didn't need someone to talk to; at least she didn't think so.

Her stomach flip flopped and not in a good way as he drew closer; he felt like a stranger.

"I miss you, Beth." His voice was filled with sadness and it filled her with an intense regret; she was seeing this man, wasn't she? She had been happy a week ago, hadn't she?

Jimmy looked at her, his gaze begging for something, anything, and she couldn't help herself; her eyes darted away.

"I'm sorry, I'm not –" It was a false start. She had no idea what to say. "I need time."

She felt him shift next to her, heard his small, defeated, 'okay'.

"I'm sorry." She said again. She was.

She continued to stare at the floor, her gaze intense enough to wear a whole in the wooden planks, until, finally, he himself could no longer stand her silence. With a soft sigh he stood and left the room.

She listened to his footsteps as they traced their way down the hall, down the stairs and out the front door, and, with little warning, began to cry.

The sensation she couldn't previously identity returned and suddenly, it was obvious. She felt nothing for him.

The realization made her sick.

* * *

><p>He rose with the sun and continued his search. He called for Rick around corners and into storefronts that looked newly breached. He tracked fresh blood trails, all of which led to walkers or corpses.<p>

He had looked _everywhere_ and by noon he had thoroughly combed greater Atlanta. He was exhausted, slightly dehydrated and frustrated as hell.

How far could the man have gotten?

Or, worse, had the man been so incapable in the beginning? Had he already met his end? Daryl knew it was a possibility, a large one, even, but he knew – _hoped_ – Rick had a bit more grit than that.

Daryl grit his teeth, checking the sun's position in the sky – he would ride the surrounds, he decided. He would ride for two hours and head back.

Daryl nodded to himself and began to head back towards where he had stowed a bike when -

_CRACK._

The sound of a gunshot rent the air; the sound bounced of the buildings and echoed down the street. It was loud as hell and it was close.

Without giving it much thought Daryl turned on his heel, facing the direction he thought it had come from, and ran.

As he got closer he could hear the groans of a large group of walkers and the panicked grunts of someone very much so _not_ a walker. He raised his crossbow and turned the corner.

There were ten, maybe fifteen walkers in the road and one very panicked person standing atop an abandoned car, gun held before him.

Daryl froze as he took in the numbers and the sad sap before him; it wasn't Rick.

"Hey, oh my God, help me, please help me!" The man had spotted him rather immediately and Daryl felt a rather sick sense of regret; the man's neck was awash with blood, the bite wound glistening. Walkers grabbed at the man's feet and he kicked at their groping hands.

He couldn't help the man, bite or no bite.

"Sorry." Daryl ground out, more for himself as there was no chance the man could hear him over that racket.

He began to back away silently when the man leaped forward, launching himself of the hood, running towards him.

"Please, please help me –" Daryl backed away, crossbow now aimed at the man.

_Fuck._ If he hadn't been so goddamn careless, so goddamn desperate he wouldn't have fucked up this badly.

"Back off." Daryl called out, eyeing the man and the walkers, all of which were making for him. "Now!"

It didn't have any effect; the man was terrified.

"Please, save me, help me –" The man tripped, weak from blood loss, and Daryl turned and didn't look back.

Daryl jogged, casting a glance backwards; half the walkers had stopped to feast on the man while the others continued their pursuit.

But hell if he hadn't he fucked up something fierce.

He turned down an alley and quickly, quietly, hid behind a dumpster. Moments later the small pack passed, unaware of his hiding spot.

He let out a sigh. That had been too damn close.

He turned to continue down the alley, intent on making for the other side of the building.

What he saw on the other side made him freeze in place, his chest heaving as he tried to slow his breathing. His muscles tightened as his body prepared to run and all his small aches and pains disappeared as adrenaline began to flow once again.

– the entire street was filled with a herd, about the same size that had plowed through Hershel's farm.

Almost immediately one turned towards him and he turned back into the alley; he could hear their hungry moans and grunts as other followed.

He was almost at the other side of the alley when another walker appeared, one from the pack he had just outrun. Two others followed behind it and he shrunk back against the wall.

"Fuck –" He spat. He was cornered, he was fucking cornered.

He looked up, his mind racing, searching for a fire escape, a way out and he was rewarded.

Daryl wasted no time jumping on top of the dumpster and reaching to pull down the ladder. He kicked out as a walker got to close; it fell backwards but another replaced it almost immediately.

The ladder came down reluctantly, its rusted frame protesting; as soon as it was in place Daryl pulled himself up.

It went straight up to the roof in a steady line, a platform placed at each floor; Daryl climbed, intent on making it to the roof, grabbing rung after rung, the _clunk clunk clunk_ of his footfalls announcing his imminent safety.

He climbed and climbed and was no more than two more stories from the roof when something grabbed at his side; a rotten hand protruding from a busted window.

He grunted as it held tight to his clothing and he did his best to pull away but it was strong and hungry. He took one hand off the rung, intent on ripping the damn thing clean off, when it pulled again.

His other hand slipped, then his right foot.

He hardly realized he was falling before his body made contact with the platform a full story below, his head cracking against the grated metal.

_Don't pass out, don't pass out – _he thought just moments before losing consciousness_._

* * *

><p>Beth pushed the wheelbarrow into the stall and set about mucking. It wasn't her favorite chore but the labor would be enough to help release her frustrations and would serve to distract.<p>

She cleaned it out, turning over the hay, wheeling the soiled mess away and out of the stable.

"Hey." Maggie called and Beth looked up – her sister was in her work outfit, clearly intent on helping her, but something seemed off. It was with a small sense of dread that she realized she had been expecting to look up and see two people. Maggie and a man name Glenn – a man she had made up in a dream.

She smiled back for it was all that she could handle, so great was the building fear. What if she was crazy? What if there was something wrong with her – this wasn't _normal._

"Thought you could use some help." Maggie smiled softly as she said it, grabbing the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall.

Beth nodded, trying to shut out the image of her sister and that man.

_He doesn't exist,_ she had to remind herself over and over as Maggie tried to engage her in conversation. She even checked her sister's finger, giving it a side glance; no ring.

She felt tears gathering in her eyes and she sniffed quietly, refusing to let Maggie see.

She had known Glenn, had loved him like a brother – _he isn't real_.

Beth had seen how happy her sister had been with him … she looked over at her sister; she was talking but Beth wasn't really hearing it. Maggie looked softer than she should; the toughness accrued from months of struggle – struggle Beth could remember too clearly to be false – had vanished.

So had the light in her eyes, the one that Glenn himself had put there.

"Beth –" Maggie was looking at her, a deep crease set into her brow.

"Okay, I'm worried." Maggie said, setting her pitchfork down, her face creased in concern. "What's going on, Beth?"

"I'm fine –" She huffed, reminding herself of Daryl – the thought came suddenly and she felt the tears returning, the choking feeling in her throat – _he's not real._

"Beth, it's me. This is about that night, isn't it? That dream." Maggie's voice had taken on that no-nonsense tone she always adopted when she knew she was hiding something; it was the same tone she used that night she snuck out and the time she was trying to hid her relationship with Jimmy.

"It's – I can't explain it." She admitted, her lip quivering, threatening to betray her and help send her into hysterics. Her throat closed around her confused grief, choking her voice into a whisper.

"Terrible things happened –" And they had; she didn't want it all to be true; she had lost Patricia and Otis, Jimmy … her father. No, she wouldn't want to lose her father again, but she had also been given people. She had tried not to think about them, in the beginning, but there was no denying the memories of them.

"But good things happened, too –"She choked. Everyday now she would find herself thinking about when to feed Judith, worrying over Carl, thinking about Daryl and Rick, Carol, Michonne and Glenn ….

"It was so real, Maggie –" Her vision blurred, tears forming unbidden. "I remember them, I miss them –"

"I love them and they're not even real people." She hiccupped, unable to hold it in anymore – suddenly Maggie was holding her, a hand dragging soothingly through her tangled hair.

"It's okay. We've all been through a lot. This is … this is okay." It wasn't okay. She felt like she was going crazy. Her heart was filled with emotions that had no real precedent being there, her mind full of memories from events that hadn't happened.

"I don't … I think there's something wrong with me."

"It's okay, Beth. We'll talk to daddy, he'll figure something out. We'll all be here to help you." She nodded into her sister's shirt; she had to believe it. Her sanity depended on it.

"Maggie!" Beth pulled away as Jimmy's voice split through the general quiet.

"Maggie!"

"What now –" Maggie huffed before setting into a slow jog. Jimmy met them outside the barn, doubling over in front of them, chest heaving from having run from who knows where.

"Otis needs you; we found some more, in the swamp, there's too many for us –" Maggie went back into the barn and traded her pitchfork for one of the catchpoles.

"Beth, I'll be back, okay? Just wait here." Maggie said quickly before nodding at Jimmy; the two set off into a run, leaving Beth behind.

* * *

><p>It was the moans of walkers that brought him so suddenly into a sitting position. It was the sudden movement that set his head to pounding and had him throwing up through the grate.<p>

Daryl groaned as he finished being sick and lay back against the metal; it was the only thing his body would allow for the time being.

_Should be dead,_ he thought as he lay back and looked at the still groping hand, flesh hanging from where it had made contact with the broken window.

_Couldn'a fucked this up anymore if y' tried_, was his next thought because hell, this had to be some kind of punishment.

He felt his eyes slipping close again and he focused on the pain in an attempt to keep unconsciousness at bay.

He could feel the wound on his head as it throbbed angrily. He could feel the sticky blood running down his back and into his shirt, but he couldn't complain, couldn't worry about it now.

He deserved it, had royally fucked up and had no one but himself to thank for the injury.

Daryl opened his eyes and turned to look down at the walkers – there had to be at least fifty packed into the alley – and allowed himself a short huff of amusement.

So this was how it was going to be. He wasn't to fix a damn thing. He was just going to _change_ them, and probably for the worst, all whilst he made it out on dumb luck.

His mind drifted, for the first time in days, to Beth. She was a smart girl, tough – she was probably making more of this than he was. When this had begun he had debated whether or not he should return to Hershel's farm, if he should find her again.

He had thought about what it would mean for Hershel and Patricia, for Otis and Jimmy, for Glenn and Maggie …

He had known what he was going to do before and this particularly fucked event had just cemented it; they would be better off without having met their group.

A literal shadow cast itself over him and he squinted, confused, his injury making things slow to come.

It took him a good long moment to realize that the sun had fallen behind the building.

He was out of time.

_Again._

* * *

><p>Beth waited and, after nearly half an hour, decided to go after them. She made short work of the trail and within fifteen minutes she was in the swamp.<p>

The scene in front of her sent of an eerie sense of déjà vu.

It was the Cadoux brothers and Mary Swan from the farm two miles up the road. She remembered this day. She remembered her father telling her about them, about how Otis, Maggie and Jimmy had pulled them from the swamp. She remembered them praying over dinner and thanking God for the safe return of these people.

She stumbled forward unable to believe it.

"They're in too deep," Maggie complained as she pulled and pulled; it looked as though she were about to rip Mary's head right off, "we might need to find a different way. We're losing light."

"Nah, this'll do. We can dig some of the mud out, pull each one together –" Otis said as he handed Jimmy his catch pole.

It was surreal – the feelings that had been there the days before returned full force. What were they thinking? Walkers were dangerous … _this_ was dangerous. It was wrong.

"Okay – she's really in there though, she –" Maggie didn't get a chance to finish as she slipped and fell forward.

She landed with a splat right in front of Mary. The walker didn't waste time; fresh meat was before it and it reached out, hand locking around Maggie's wrist.

"Otis!" Maggie called out as she struggled, the mud making it near impossible to push herself up and away whilst staying out of reach.

Beth's heart filled with fear and rage, her hand gripping the pitchfork she had brought even tighter. Before she even knew her own intentions she was running forward, adrenaline and instincts bearing her forward, pitchfork held at the ready.

She heard Jimmy yell her name, heard Maggie's startled intake of breath, and heard Otis yelling at her to stop, just before she plunged the pitchfork into the walker's head.

* * *

><p>The motorcycle wobbled as he fought to keep his balance and he was actively warring against his blurred vision. He wasn't in the best shaped, especially for riding a bike in the dark – he could barely track the light and the road before him, it was nauseating – but he'd done it to his own damn self.<p>

Getting out of the city had been hell enough but he couldn't fail again – he had been given a chance to change things and all he'd done thus far was bust his own head and fuck things up so badly they were near unrecognizable.

When he finally reached he gravel road he had to temper his racing heart, had to force himself to slow down as the motorcycle fishtailed and his hands began to shake.

He was nearly at the top – hell he could make out the umbrella on top of the RV - and was about to breath a sigh of relief when he heard a scream.

* * *

><p>"Beth! What did you do –" Maggie screeched as she got to her knees and fell back, taking in the dead form before her.<p>

If they couldn't do it she would – she wouldn't let these things kill her family, not again.

"That was Mary –" Jimmy murmured, shocked, his visage pale.

Beth ignored him, tears running down her own face as she ripped the pitchfork from the walker's head, the loud squelch making everyone cringe.

She stood, intent on putting the Cadoux brothers down, when her sister grabbed her, forcing her to her knees.

"Beth, what are you doing –" Beth wanted to scream at her, wanted to shake her because how could they all be so stupid, how could they not know what she did. She was so tired of feeling alone.

For the fifth time that day she found herself overwhelmed; all she could do was sob, the pitchfork falling uselessly from her hands.

* * *

><p>He hopped off the bike, allowing the thing to go crashing to the ground, it's frame screeching in protest, and he ran.<p>

He could see Amy struggling as the walker ripped a sizeable chuck out of her arm. He was far but he raised his crossbow anyway; the arrow found its target but it was too late.

He rushed forward anyway and upon reaching her grabbed at her arm; it was slick with blood and she tried to pull away, her eyes wide with fear and her screams sending a shiver down his spine.

He was too fucking late.

"Help, Andrea, help me – " The girl sobbed as she took in her wound and the chaos around her, "I don't want to die."

Suddenly, Andrea was at his side and he knew what to do.

"Stay with her." He bit out before jumping into the fray; he made a beeline for the axe that was still embedded in a log next to the fire, killing two walkers that made a leap for him.

Within seconds he was back, axe raised high.

"No! NO!" Andrea pushed at him; she thought he was going to kill her, he realized. "Get away from her!"

"Listen! We can stop the infection if we cut above it." He yelled back at her; the woman's eyes couldn't have gone any wider. She looked sick to her stomach.

"I can save her, Andrea!" He all but shouted at her but she hesitated, face stained with tears.

"I – that –" She wouldn't be able to make the decision, he realized.

"Cover us." Was all the warning he gave her before he grabbed Amy's arm.

"It's ok." He said, taking in her blue eyes; they were glossy, filled with fear and pain. He had to do this now.

He pinned her left arm down, eliciting a frightful yelp, and raised the axe. He hesitated, only for a moment, and then sent the blade crashing down into flesh and bone.

_He would fix this._

* * *

><p>So … yeah. There you have it – I hope no one is too terribly turned off by the turn of events. Things are really going to pick up now and that reunion you are all so eager for is straight ahead. And don't worry about Rick. We will see him again. Soon.<p>

Thank you, as always, for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing. It means the world to me, especially after this difficult week. I also appreciate those of you who left their condolences for my pup – it made it a little easier.

Until next time, friends.


	4. To Small Victories

**The Stars Look Different Today  
><strong>By Cider Sky

* * *

><p>Together, they would rewrite history.<p>

A/N: I feel as though the last chapter was a lost you or won you type chapter – thanks to those who have stuck with me!

A/N2: A special thank you to penless, secretfunnelcake, I2E41, BelleCelestyn, lilhanna, Guest, Jamin1227, bootsandhughes and aquila333. Your comments really inspired me to write faster and mean the world to mean – I know you all don't have to take the time to review but thank you. I would also, as a thank you, be interested in writing a one-shot for anyone of you – send me a PM if you have any ideas!

_You can, you should, and if you're brave enough to start, you will.  
><em>– Stephen King

* * *

><p>The camp was in chaos, even as the sun rose and the walkers had been dispatched. The bodies of walkers and the recently-living littered the patch of land they had called their camp, blood soaking the dirt, turning spots a terrible, blackish-red.<p>

Daryl slammed a pick axe into the head of a woman, a woman who had been alive just hours previously, and pulled back with a grunt.

Here he was _again_, repeating history, a history he could have stopped. He _could_ have said something before leaving; could have made up something about a herd he had seen, about signs of walkers, fucking _anything_.

Instead he had set out to look for Rick; he had been so sure he would find the man, so sure he would be able to get in and out without any hassle.

He had gambled with these people's lives and lost. Badly.

He sent the pickaxe into the skull of another – a man he had never known – and felt his stomach twist.

None of these people had to die. _But they would've, eventually, in a different way._ His mind supplied, a pessimistic drawl that made him grip the handle to the point of hurting.

It didn't make him feel any fucking better but it was a terrible truth he was learning.

Everything he did – _everything_ – made a difference, made a change. He could probably take a piss at the wrong time and kill someone.

"This is one ugly bitch –" Daryl turned his head to see his brother pulling a walker up by the hair, prodding at the woman's ruined face with the tip of his bat.

"Ain't much of a change from before." Ed chuckled.

_Yeah_, he thought,_ things fuckin' changed._ It was the worst development to come out of this new history, Daryl had decided. It was a ridiculous thing to think amongst the bodies of many good people, but Daryl firmly believed that Ed Peletier's non-death was the day's biggest goddamn tragedy.

Rick's absence wasn't the only thing that had changed with Merle's presence; apparently the two had spent the whole goddamn day drinking by the water and whatever events led to Ed's death didn't fucking happen.

His pickaxe went down again; Carol would never feel the satisfaction of caving her bastard husband's head in.

He scanned the camp, trying to find her and there, there she was, sitting with her daughter, Lori and Carl, both women comforting their children out of view from the devastation.

Now wasn't the time, but Ed – that piece of shit would get his.

Daryl shook the anger from his body and wiped the sweat from his brow; there were still some small victories to be had.

He looked over towards the pile of walkers, a fire burning steadily underneath them, and at Jim, a rag over his face as he helped Morales toss a bulky form onto the flame.

The man hadn't been bitten this time around; after some thinking Daryl figured it had something to do with the axe. It had been his weapon of choice the first time it had happened, but this time Daryl had taken it to … help Amy.

Jim's fate had detoured, then. He had never gone for the axe, hadn't traveled the same path, hadn't gotten _bitten._

_To small fuckin' victories._

He wasn't yet sure, however, if he could call Amy's predicament a victory; that was yet to be seen.

Daryl spared a glance over to the RV where he knew Andrea, Shane and Dale were gathered. He had been kicked out as soon as the bleeding had slowed; he had tourniqueted the girl's wound with a strip of fabric, had carried her into the RV and had packed the wound with all the spare material he could find.

Just as he had been about to jump back into the fray the walker attack had ended; their numbers had been larger this time around – Ed, Merle, Glenn and T-Dog had all been there, had been able to drive the walkers back quicker than before.

From there they had done their best to stem the bleeding and, to Daryl's surprise and fucking _relief_, had succeeded. That's when Andrea had slapped him, _hard_, across the right cheek and had told him to get the fuck out.

Now all there was to do was wait.

He was getting anxious, however, as he knew the next bit would take a lot of convincing …

It would turn out that he didn't have to wait to long. No more than two minutes later Shane came barreling out of the RV.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Shane all but yelled as he charged him, muscles bunched and ready for a fight. Daryl didn't back down, didn't step back even as the man go right in his damn face.

"Was thinkin' 'bout savin' her damned life. More'n you could do - " Shane grabbed as his shirt, bunching the fabric in his hands but Daryl pushed at his chest, hard enough to make the man stumble back.

"You fuckin' –" Shane stepped forward again, fist reeling for a strike, and damnit, Daryl was ready but suddenly T-Dog and Glenn were there, followed by Jim and Lori.

Merle and Ed were hedging on the impending fight looking hungry for it, if anything. But Merle, he wasn't making any step forward to help – not that Daryl wanted it – if anything Merle enjoyed watching him fight his own battles, even when he got pounded into the dirt. Made him tougher, the man had always said.

"Hey, this ain't helpin' –" T-Dog interjected but Shane wasn't apt to listen as he pointed a finger at Daryl, trying to hedge past T-Dog.

"Where were you, huh? Joy ridin'? Didn't come back with any supplies – goin' back for your stash, more'n likely!"

"You don't know shit about this." Daryl ground out because fuck him – he had no idea. Daryl stared at the man, watching as he paced like an angry dog before stepping forward, his motion less aggression and more 'go fuck yourself'.

"Wake up," Daryl spat, "If I hadn't done it she would've been as good as dead. She's got a shot now."

"A shot? The girl's missing an arm – if she don't turn into a walker she's gonna bleed out, you dumb fucking hick!" Shane pushed passed T-Dog and Jim and Daryl was ready for it – he squared himself, ducking just as Shane's fist came flying towards him.

Daryl took a small internal moment to marvel over how physically unfit he felt as he turned and rammed his elbow into the man's ribs. Is movements were slower than he was used to, his muscles less willing to respond with their usual speed – he was missing two years of conditioning and it was showing.

"Shane! Stop, he's not worth it –" Lori said as she saddled next to the fight, her voice straining to overpower the shouts of the others – it hurt more than Daryl would have liked to admit. He and Lori had never become overly close, but at the end, they had come to care about each other.

If he was having any trouble remembering who he had been, these people sure as hell were doing a damn good job reminding him.

Daryl caught a knee in the stomach and gasped, but took the opportunity to grab the man's leg, pushing it forward, sending Shane onto his back. Shane held onto his arm, wrenching it painfully, and dragging him down with him.

Now they were a mess of kicking and punching, both fighting to get the upper hand. Shane managed to roll him onto his back, slamming his already fucked head into the ground – stars exploded in his vision, his head swam – but Daryl shook it away. He a growl he threw his head forward as hard as he could; he couldn't help but grin over the satisfying crunch of Shane's nose.

"C'mon, little brother!" Merle shouted over the din of the others – he was enjoying this. "Fight like a Dixon, son!"

Daryl rolled, bucking Shane as he reeled form his now broken nose and suddenly there were hands on him, ripping him backwards. Morales and Jim were pulling at him, all but dragging him into a standing position and when Daryl looked up he could see T-Dog and Glenn trying to do the same with Shane.

Daryl shrugged out of their hold and spit a mouthful of blood, his eyes never leaving Shane's form.

The man was keyed up, the fight still fresh in his eyes, but he didn't make another move to attack. Instead he shook his head.

"You're outta here," Shane said, his voice low and dangerous, blood running down his face, dripping from his chin, "Both'a you. By nightfall I want you gone –"

"Bullshit –" Daryl spat because all he had done was try to save Amy's life; Shane had been the one to start this shit …

But when Daryl looked around he could see the fear in everyone's eyes – their fear of _him._ He'd been acting weird the past few days, no doubt, and this had sent them over the edge; they all looked as though they agreed with the former cop and Daryl felt fucking _sick._

Things were happening too fast, events collapsing on top on one another – every step forward was a leap backwards for him. No one could change this quickly, not without destroying something.

"Aww, boo-fuckin'-hoo," Merle groaned from behind him but Daryl didn't look, "don't need these bunch'a pussies anyway, little bro."

He felt Merle's hand land on his shoulder, a hard slap more than anything, and before he registered what he was doing, he shrugged away.

He just hoped what he was about to say was the right thing.

He had mulled over it that morning, had thought about their avenues: the road, the CDC and … Herschel's farm.

The CDC was a dead end; he knew that. But they could get medication and supplies – the place had been a wealth of food and odds and ends. But again, dead end. He knew how that story ended, knew that Jenner would be set on his goal of self-annihilation, knew that no amount of begging or pandering or whatever would see him out of the place.

The road, unlike the CDC, was a huge unknown. He had no idea what it would mean for any of them – could be better, could be worse, could be could be could be ….

That had left him with the in between – Herschel's farm. There had been an incredibly selfish and foolish part of him that had wanted to seek them out as soon as they had found Rick. He would have had the knowledge, the tools, to keep everyone safe there, he had reasoned.

But after the past week … he knew, if anything, he might be bringing a different kind of trouble to the farm. Things weren't as they were before – they had Merle and they didn't have Rick, the one who had been the peacekeeper. They had more people. They had Shane as their leader.

It was all so damn different and fuck it was supposed to be.

And then there was _her. _He had thought about Beth, of course, but he had known that she, more than anything, loved her family. Would she want them to return? Would it be fair to force that history on her again?

"I know somewhere safe, somewhere we can get Amy help –" That drew an overt amount of curiosity, his sudden calmness, the sincerity in his voice; they had been expecting an angry outburst full of venomous words and curses.

"Like hell you do." Shane said almost at the same time as Merle spoke his piece: "What'n the hell'r you talkin' about?"

"A farm. I know – " Daryl paused; what if Beth didn't remember. What if whatever was happening to him wasn't happening to Beth. Well, _fuck it_, he thought. If he could at least convince them to go, they would see he was right and he could make it work.

"I know someone; they'll be able to help Amy, help all of us." The camp was silent; Daryl could feel his brother burning a whole into his skull with all his staring. He spared Merle a glance and he didn't like what he saw there: anger, betrayal, confusion …

"What if he's telling the truth?" It was Carol that had said it, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her voice, though meek, effectively splitting the air; she spoke so sparingly that people tended to listen when she said something.

"Yeah, and what if he ain't? Y' trust him with your life?" Shane asked her, his voice lowering into something that was supposed to be akin to concern; it's how he got people to do what he wanted, Daryl knew that.

Carol didn't say anything and Daryl tried to not let it get to him more than everything already was. _Tried_, being the key word.

"It's the only lead we have –" Glenn offered, his voice filled with desperation for something better. Rick's absence was clear, Daryl thought, as the other's clambered amongst themselves, voicing their opinions in a disorganized flurry.

They needed Rick and he had taken him away from them.

"I trust him." Carol again, and damn it felt good, but it was immediately met with more contention as Shane and Lori, Morales spoke over her.

"We're going!" Andrea's voice was the one to break through, in the end. The RV door closed with a resounding _thwack_ as she jumped down from the vehicle, her face puffy and red, her eyes shadowed with heavy bags.

"If he says these people can help Amy," Andrea looked at him, her begging for a solution, "then we're going."

"Andrea –" Shane held his hands up, reaching to give her a pat on the shoulder; his voice dripped with placation. She stepped away, her face turning into something angry.

"If you won't then we will. Dale will take us in the RV. We'll follow Daryl." Andrea was shaking as she spoke but her words came out steady and resolute.

_We'll follow Daryl_. Daryl knew what she had meant but it felt like he had won, especially since he knew how Shane had taken it; he could see the man's lip turn up in disgust.

"You're makin' a mistake, Andrea. You gonna trust him –"

"What's your plan then? Stay here after all that? Let her die?" She hissed, her hands clenching into angry fists.

"Maybe he _was_ right –" Andrea's voice dropped into something small and grateful. "She hasn't turned."

"Yet." Shane grunted even as Andrea shot him the nastiest look. The man sighed, looked around, shaking his head.

"We won't be going," Morales said when Shane's gaze landed upon him; Daryl wasn't surprised, the man had been looking for an out the whole time, "We have family in Alabama."

"Anyone else?" Shane asked, hoping to see more disagreement from the others. No one spoke.

"Fine. But if anything goes wrong," He turned to Daryl, his finger pointed accusingly once again, "it's on you."

_On him_. If only the man knew the real truth in those words.

* * *

><p>"Those were … are <em>people<em>, Beth." Herschel said, the pain in his voice evident. "What were you thinking, darling?"

Beth sniffed as she tried to regain some control over herself; she had only just stopped crying and now her eyes were puffy and painful, her head swimming from both exhaustion and confusion.

"Beth, it's okay." Maggie gave her hand a squeeze from her place on the couch; they were all sat in the living room for her – Maggie, her father, Patricia and Otis - but she hadn't an idea how to start.

"I'm so sorry, daddy –" Beth sniffed again, trying to regain something that would lend her more credibility, something that would rid the quiver in her voice, "I don't think we can help them."

She felt Maggie's grip harden and her hands begin to shake; the others looked at her, their eyes pinched with sadness and worry. They were afraid for her.

"Honey, we don't know yet how we can help, but God will –" Patricia's voice was full of hope, full of something warm and calm, something that _irked_ her.

"No, it's … they're dead. They can't come back. They can't." She choked, her voice raising in support of the theory. "This isn't just going to stop. Not soon."

_You know this, too, _she wanted to add because her father did know. Had known.

"How do you know that, Beth?" Maggie asked with a softness that said she was worried, not about what Beth said but about her younger sister's mental state.

"I don't know what's happening," she said, her voice cracking, "I know all these things and I don't know how I know them –"

The room was silent as she took in a large shuddering breath.

"Do you think I'm going crazy?" Her eyes filled with tears again as she looked at her father; _God_, she was so tired of being terrified, of being confused. There was something very wrong with her …

"No, Bethy." He leaned forward, settling on his knees in front of her; he took his daughter's hands and Beth felt slightly better for the warmth of her father's own.

"I think we have all been through a lot," Her father gave her a smile small and her fears, though tangible and painful – the images from the dream filtered through her mind, powerful and vivid as ever – diminished slightly; he always had that ability, to calm her, "and I think it is time for you to rest."

"Let us handle them, Beth –" Otis said kindly and Beth nodded; it wasn't because she couldn't handle them - the walkers - not like they all thought, but because she knew she would never be able to do what they did. They wanted to save them. She wanted to _kill_ them.

God help her, she really was sick.

It was that thought that had her biting her tongue as they asked her more questions. She wanted to tell them about the others, about the prison, about the virus but her own mind retaliated in fear reminding her of that fact: _you are sick. You need help. None of that was real._

They all knew she was fragile - had always been – and that this world was proving too much. It was a mental breakdown, a weakness of spirit.

"Let us pray." Her father said and she leaned forward into his embrace.

She just wanted to forget that dream.

* * *

><p>Daryl was leading, picking his way through the highway with no semblance of ease; this had been significantly easier on the motorcycle.<p>

Daryl glanced into his side view mirror, catching sight of the motorcycle and his brother.

He hadn't spoken to his brother before his trip into Atlanta and that had cost him; this thing with Amy had only pissed him off further, had only served to confuse the fuck out of the older man.

Daryl huffed a breath out, cursing his lack of finesse; he didn't see how he could balance himself between the group and Merle, hell, it had hardly worked back at the prison.

At least Daryl had had a reason to act so different at the prison they had been separated for months, had bonded with the others … now it just seemed like a sudden betrayal; _abandonment._

"_What the hell is goin' on." Merle cornered him as he made his way back to his truck, fresh from the fight with Shane; his brother looked pissed, more than that, but was holding back – he was … confused. It was a relatively new look for the man, but wouldn't it be? Daryl had never, up until this very moment, acted like that._

_He had up and decided to play leader, apropos to nothing._

"_You don't know 'bout no damn farm and I sure as hell know you don't know nobody –" Merle grilled him, hand grabbing at his shoulder when he tried to turn and toss something in the truck._

"_We were tryin' to thin them and here you go tryin' to save them. If I didn't know any better, would think you're on their side –" Sides. That's how they had seen it in the beginning; the camp v. the Dixons. No wonder the others had hated them so fucking much._

"_It ain't like that. Just got my ass beat didn't, I?" And yeah. It hurt like fucking hell and he was exhausted. He'd been going since the day before, since the walker incident in Atlanta._

"_I've been in the city, Merle. We – we can't do it alone." Daryl put as much anger and frustration into as he could; he had to salvage this. "We need people."_

_It wasn't much different from the conversation they once had in the prison but he wasn't sure Merle was ready for it._

"_We're Dixons – don't need nobody, specially not these pussies." Merle said it with enough acid to burn a hole in metal._

_Daryl looked up from packing his tent and swallowed; his brother was so goddamn pigheaded. It would have almost been easier if the man had still been high as shit; could have just dumped his brother in the passenger seat of his truck and called it a night._

"_Yeah, well, safety in numbers. It ain't easy out there, near got myself killed." He hoped it was convincing though he knew it shouldn't be … until Merle grinned._

"_Didn't know you had the hots for sugar tits jr. … playin' knight in shinin' armor."_

"_Jackass." Daryl grunted; he didn't deny it or confirm it. If that's what Merle needed to see him as his little brother again, not as someone he didn't recognize, someone who had very suddenly betrayed him, he would play along._

Daryl shook the interaction from his thoughts; there was nothing for it now. He was too busy trying to _guess_ what bringing these people to Herschel's farm – ahead of schedule, at that – would mean.

It would mean Carl never getting shot. It would mean Sophia being alive. It would mean finding more _good_ people.

For the time being it was enough to make up for the other things, the things he knew were bound to be a shit show.

He couldn't think about that now, though, because suddenly the road to Hershel's farm was on his left. With a deep breath and a rush of anticipation, he slowed and took the turn, the caravan trailing behind him.

* * *

><p>They pulled up towards the house, Daryl signaling them to stop a good distance away; he remembered how Herschel had been, how this might look to them and he just hoped they could walk into this situation with their best foot forward.<p>

He stepped out of the truck and waved at the RV; Andrea came stepping out, followed by Dale. He had told them to come along, to explain things, and because he knew they were most likely to put Herschel's fears at ease.

It would be a tough sell; Otis had owed them, before, had put them in a position Herschel could not quite refuse. But now … they were strangers, they had no reason to be there save for something sinister or something desperate.

He hoped Herschel was in one of his more Godly moods.

Together, they approached the farm and no sooner than they were in the main driveway, Otis, Herschel and Maggie came out onto the porch, guns raised.

"We don't want any trouble and neither do you. Get off our land and we can all go our separate ways, _alive_ –" Herschel called out; Daryl remembered stories of their first encounters with looters. A couple strays here and there, but never a big group. This had to have them in a panic.

Daryl was about to say something when he noticed a mop of blonde peeking out from behind them; Beth …

And, without warning to her family, she burst forward into a run.

* * *

><p>And they are back together! There is a lot of … strange changes to come. These two have a lot to deal with, trust me. And I promise you, Daryl isn't done looking for Rick – he's just a little distracted at the moment.<p>

I hope you all enjoyed that chapter – I am sorry if it took a turn you weren't hoping for! Thank you to everyone who has read, favorited, followed and reviewed. It means a great deal to me, as a fan and a writer.

Again, I would be interested in writing (for any of you lovely reviewers) a one shot of your prompt/choice; send me a PM if you have any ideas!

Until next time.


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